


Sunburn

by MitzyBlue



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Far Harbor, possible Far Harbor spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:29:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MitzyBlue/pseuds/MitzyBlue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Old Longfellow knows the island like the body of a foul tempered lover, then a single ship crashing upon the shores shifts his world. </p><p>A romance between an old hunter and a wild sea captain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunburn

 

No one knows when the ship actually came to the island that night.

The fog was thicker than usual. White swirling curtains that burned all that it touched. Everyone was always on high alert on days like this, so they didn’t know how an entire ship could slip past them. Yet slip past them it had.

Like a slain beast, it lay a quiet carcass upon the rocks. Splinters of the hull floated around the small town of Far Harbor and the children fished them out with hushed curiosity.

SS Storozhevoy.

It took a full day before people gained enough courage to try approaching the ship. It was a curious sort of empty. Not just devoid of passengers but of any cargo. There were no nets or even food supplies a ship of that size would have needed.

A ghost ship.

All except for one room. The captain's room was lined with metal and hummed with sentry turrets that would whirr open if someone approached the door. There wasn’t enough courage or stupidly placed spite to want to test how much the turrets would allow so they left it alone. Nods of agreement that the ship must have been a remnant from the war-- finally come to rest after years of being adrift.

Nods cut short when the door finally opened. The woman who stood in the doorway could have been described as a walking storm. Rolling hips like thunder, hazel eyes like lightning, and a mane of close-cropped cloudy grey. She barked at them in a language that no one understood. Eyes crackling with ferocity and dried blood on her face from a cut that must have bled like a bitch in the beginning.

Old Longfellow only witnessed it all because the accursed ship had landed damn near on his back porch. Not that he really had a porch, but the sentiment was there as he spit away the old taste of whisky and sleep while chambering a round in his old rifle.

She rolled through four more languages before she hit one they understood.

“Where is zis?”

Her accent was thick and curled like smoke from a rifle. Heavy. It almost reminded Longfellow of the old Nanny bots but… different. Where they were soft and lilting, she was like the hammer of a gun.

It was Captain Avery who gave an answer. Stepping to the front of the pack she spoke, “This is Far Harbor. A town off the coast of Maine.”

The woman nodded, “What is ze currency?”

“Bottle Caps. But we also do fair trade and work trade. We can--”

The woman cut her off with a wave of her hand, “Do you have inn?”

Avery licked her lips in an attempt to recompose herself, “Yes. In town. Edge of the docks.”

“Good.”

Those hazel eyes flicked over the crowd in dismissal before she disappeared back into the room. Turrets still humming their disapproval at the lingerers and hangers-on. Longfellow simply chuckled darkly to himself and lit a cigarette.

This woman was a boatload of trouble.

 

~~~

 

The Last Plank inn was quiet as usual. Longfellow had returned from hunting to frequent the town’s only watering hole. A quaint building of combination inn, restaurant, and bar. The owner, Mitch, slid a bottle of strong homebrew bourbon across the worn wood with a nod, “Sunny’s paid for your first bottle.”

“Sunny?”

Mitch nodded. Oily black hair shifting with the action as he thrust his chin at the far corner, “The russian.”

“Russian, huh?” Longfellow muttered as he poured a glass of the alcohol.

Leather jacket clad shoulders simply shrugged, “ ‘s what Cap’n Avery called her. Whatever, man. She wants to speak with you.”

Longfellow tossed back the first glass out of habit. The alcohol burned it’s way over his tongue like liquid smoke and left an aftertaste like a radstag’s asshole. He set his glass down with a grunt and fought down the shudder that accompanied the explosion of warmth spreading outwards from his chest. Homebrew bourbon was shit compared to the old bottles occasionally found out in the abandoned buildings further inland, but at least it chased away the cobwebs that the radioactive mist always seemed to leave inside him.

Wheezing out his thanks he grabbed the bottle and sauntered over to where ‘the russian’ sat. An empty bottle of whiskey lay tipped beside a bottle of mixed vim and vodka. The bottle she was nursing was half full and fizzed with a poisonous glow that even he had to admit looked strangely appealing. Pale, scarred hands worked a curved bone needle as she patched a hole in a homemade sock. Her bare foot was up on the seat while her boot was guarded by the inn’s pregnant grey tabby. That damn cat was a walking ball of spite on most days, yet here the damn thing sat purring loud enough to sound like an old generator.

Those bright hazel eyes flicked his way like a storm rolling into the horizon and the glance hit his core like a bolt of thunder. Jutting her chin at the empty seat nearby she spoke, “Sit.”

He leaned instead against the still sturdy wooden support post and swigged his drink with a leer.

A dimple creased her cheek when a lopsided grin slid over her face and a silvery eyebrow rose. The machine gun spray of soft freckles that covered her face could be seen now that he was closer and he found himself trying very hard not to simply stare. He couldn’t seem to tell her age. Fine lines around her eyes accompanied the jagged scar that stretched down from her temple. A fresh bandage was taped over her forehead. She could be thirty or sixty-- though by the wisdom that curved in soft lines on her face, he guessed closer to the latter.

“I,” She looked up at him from beneath dark lashes and he was almost sure his old heart tried to skip a beat, “am Sunny. Captain Sunny. And I am in need of guide.”

 

~~

 

A month of following her all around the goddamn island.

A month of watching her round ass in the strange black jumpsuit she wore.

A month of having her dimpled smirk and hazel eyes laugh at him when he accidentally stepped in gulper shit.

But he didn’t mind. Not really. Oh, sure, he bitched and moaned aplenty, but when it came down to it he was flat out gobsmacked at how she well she handled herself. Her hearing was sharp and she learned quick even if she was near blind without the thick rimmed pair of glasses she kept safe in one of her jumpsuits zippered pockets.

Above all though, she was fuckin ace at scavenging.

Sunny could comb through a building like a whirlwind and somehow come out with at least four bottles of alcohol and some sort of old world spice to use in that night’s dinner. First time, he’s assumed a fluke. Beginner’s luck. Stupid assumption since he could see by the scars that she was an old hat at this. You don’t live to the grey years by not learning how to scrap and scrounge.

It took him a whole week to ask if her name was really Sunny. She never answered, but he always assumed the answer was no. More-so since she seemed to be anything but. Sure, sometimes he’d earn that dimpled smirk but it wouldn’t last long. She was hard as mirelurk shell and tough as behemoth hide. Every word was clipped and dry like a mouthful of bad alcohol. Then the day came when a Lure-angler caught her pant leg with it’s flammable mucus and she snarled in that clipped language and out came a grenade.

A pocket present for a rainy day.

Fire reflected in her eyes as she lobbed the damn thing straight down the angler’s mouth. Bits of the offending creature dotted the sparsely grassed land as he trudged over to check on her.  Longfellow had been surprised that her clothing didn’t burn. Through clenched teeth and bravado, she’d tried to explain that it was treated with an oil made from some beast overseas-- won’t burn away with fire and protects from radiation.

Didn’t stop her skin underneath from burning though.

The angry red and white blisters graced most of her leg. She’d fussed a copper stream of cussin when he’d hefted her up into piggyback position and said it was time to return to town till it healed. A colorful rant on her medical knowledge in multiple languages assaulted him for the majority of the trek back to the cowering husk of a town on the docks. Damnation if he’d admit it, but he actually enjoyed it all. He enjoyed carrying her, even if his knees protested. He enjoyed the sullen silence punctuated by pained grunts when he’d accidentally jostle her leg, and then he really enjoyed the clipped admittance of thanks at the end of the trek.

He passed her off to the local doctor, Wright, and promised to return to drink with her in the evening. A nightly ritual he’d become rather fond of and by the slight tell of the dimple in her cheek-- she felt the same. Plus, it was rare he’d met anyone with crazier stories than his own. Believable ones anyhow.

Not that she always talked, but when she did, he found it worthwhile to listen.

As it was, he was far overdue for a bath. There had been a few times that they’d done a quick scrub with a wet rag and some pine needles. Enough to mask the scent and keep the trappers or worse from following them. However, it had still been a month of slogging through bogs, angler guts, gulper shit, and fuck only knows what.

When he finished and returned to the inn, she sat with freshly scrubbed pink skin, thick glasses pressed over her nose, and her wet hair was slicked back. The drying strands had gotten a wavy twist to them and one curled just over her forehead. There was a brightness to her eyes when he slid into the seat beside her. A softening to the knife edged personality.

It was a very fetching look.

~

No kissing on the lips.

It was the one rule she’d set when the alcohol had rolled through their veins and somehow he’d gotten her lifted and pressed against the wall. Fuck if he could remember the conversation that lead to that point-- it all swam in his mind like anglers in a pond. She’d ordered bottle after bottle, first with a snark that he’d fussed over her leg so much that she needed to ease the burn of her pride. Then they’d moved on to telling stories until Mitch and Debby chased them from the downstairs section as they closed up for the evening. It was Sunny who had snagged an armful of bottles with a backwards wave and words about her tab. Together they’d drunkenly retreated to drink and talk upstairs in the room she’d claimed as hers for the time being.

Talk had turned somehow and she’d ended up on his lap.

He was careful of the leg. A pale bandage and the sickly sweet smell of the medicine that Doctor Wright had used. A reminder that the island could steal anyone at anytime. A warning of sorts.

But he’d never been one to pay heed to signs so why start now?

Lips like a firebrand touched to his neck. Teeth nipped at the flesh and her tongue traced lines of need as she hummed against him. There was a desperate hope that he hadn’t drank too much because right now wasn’t the time to have his canoe fail to float. Not like he couldn’t make up for it in other ways but he was pretty sure what the dance she was initiating desired.

When she’d bathed, the black suit had been replaced with a cotton shirt and pair of cut off pants that wouldn’t hit her bandage. The shirt was easy enough to get off. The pants-- less so.

His hands roamed over her ass as he carried her over to the little bed. Colorful quilted blankets pillowed her as he set her down and kissed his way downwards. Scars dotted her frame and wove a story all their own. He’d have to ask the real tales behind each one but right now it didn’t matter. He kissed the curved scar that ran almost the length of her hips, and pulled away the stubborn few items of clothing that had thwarted him previously.

One last glance up at her to reconfirm her consent before they continued. The dimple was back and her eyes glittered with the flicker of the bedside candle. He couldn’t help but grin himself as he lowered his lips to kiss lower.

Hands fisted in his hair.

Someone turned a radio on and up at some point. The thrum of music matched their pace of tangled limbs and hungry moans.  

~

“Leóna.” Hazel eyes flicked to looked up at him quicker than the still rapid beat of his heart as she traced an idle finger through the curls of hair on his chest. The word carried with it’s usual cadence and heavy accent and he marveled at how used to it all he’d gotten.

With a grunt, he tugged her closer against him, “What?”

She fit like a missing puzzle piece and he wondered when the mists and the island would take it all away.

“My name. Leóna Pavlychenko. Troops called me Captain Sunshine. Sunny.”

The fuzz of alcohol seemed to shift as he tilted his head to look at her. In all her stories she’d managed to carefully avoid her past. Sometimes things were phrased oddly, but he always took that as part of the language issue more than anything else. Now, something sat odd with what she’d said.

“Troops?” He asked with a raised brow.

That dimple pressed into her cheek for a spare moment as she curled an arm around his chest, “Not today. Not zat story.”

 

~~~

 

“I grew up in small town. Segezha. Roma Pa. Ukrainian mix Ma.”

She sat against him. Her back a radiant warmth against his side as they waited out the storm in an abandoned old mansion. There was an odd tension to the corded muscles of her back as she spoke, “joined ze war when ze village was destroyed. I was… maybe twenty. ...Pa wasn’t much without Ma.”

He toed a log back into the fire as he grunted, “Huh, the war is still going overseas?”

She shook her head, “No. I…” A sigh left her that seemed heavier than a frozen load of mirelurk shit. “I retired. Married here in ze US. Moved here. ...before _z_ e bombs.”

The chuckle that escaped him couldn’t be helped. Either she was barking mad or telling a bad joke and fuck did he hope for the latter.

Instead of calming his growing fears, she reached into the pack she carried with her and pulled out a tattered vault suit and kept speaking, “bombs fell. Husband chosen by _W_ ault tek for the local _W_ ault. ...I was frozen till about fifteen years ago. Traveled up to russia to see what had happened. Maybe find family. It’s not as bad up _z_ er. Still bad _z_ ough. ...been all o _w_ er really. Most of ze Asian countries are fucked. Japan is gone. India was…. bad.  Alaska... greener _z_ an I _z_ ought it’d  be but _z_ e minefields make it dangerous. Egypt was nice. It’s more of large oasis now. Mostly jungle. Big crocks though. ...France and Spain were underwater...”

“So,” he shifted beside her and groped for the nearby bottle of hard liquor they’d been sharing, “you’re telling me you’re over two hundred years old.”

This time she laughed. A rich sound that barked and rolled like a living thing, “only if you count being frozen. More like fifty two if you count ze ones I’ve been awake.”

Closing his eyes, he pulled her closer. The supplies she needed to fix her ship were almost ready. It didn’t matter if she was two hundred years old or twenty at that point. Old hearts tied tight together with fishing line-- there wasn’t really an out from what he’d fallen into this time.

Love was the monster that few could really escape once caught in its clutches.

 

~~

 

It was done.

Mist covered cold hand sliding into his, she leaned her head on his shoulder. With several months of hard work and the well paid help of the locals, the boat had been moved, repaired, and set back in the harbor. The patches on the old hull stood stark like the tattered edges of a beloved quilt. Metal and wood seamed together to create a new beast that would once more roam the seas.

Sunny stood observing it all. There was pride in the hard ridge of her back and tilt of her head. This was her realm. Her destiny

Purchased cargo was being stocked.

Apparently she’d had to toss cargo in a storm-- the same storm that had set her off course and into the mist and then the island.

She’d also managed to purchased one of the kittens from Debby and Mitch. A muttered word that it was good luck was her excuse but he’d seen the pleased smile that graced her lips when the small creature curled on her lap to sleep.

Now, her thumb rubbed a small circle on his palm and he had to bite back the words of asking her to stay. The mist and the island would steal it all away if he asked that. Couldn’t ask that.

“Want to come?”

Longfellow cast his gaze over the island. He’d grown up here. Called it home. It had provided and taken from him for all his life. Most regretfully, it had taken his chance at a family. His gaze turned to the sea and the stormy hazel eyes that watched him now.

The sea gave him her.

His storm full of sunshine.

With a grin, he nodded. The dimple pressed hard into her cheek and arms wound around his neck. Lips like the manifestation of passion pressed against his and he was never more sure of his decision.

**Author's Note:**

> ((Author notes: Aaaaaaaaaaah.))
> 
> Okay. So in an attempt to jumpstart my brain, I wrote this. I took some liberties with how it was written.
> 
> It's quite possible that I'll write a few more short one shots with these two in the future. We'll just have to see. 
> 
> ♥ Thanks for reading! ♥


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